


Initially

by Starlithorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sherlock is sort of a pirate, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:50:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Initially, he had wanted to be a pirate, and that had certainly bled through into his current career.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Initially

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little thing that makes more sense to me than I think it actually does. I don't mind, though. And even if you can't actually see anything piratical in what Sherlock does, it was fun to write, so it's totally worth it!

_Initially, he wanted to be a pirate._

 

Sherlock woke at noon, feeling refreshed, and perhaps a bit hungover. He always felt like that after a case, of course. It was the result of overworking the body with too little for too long. John hated how Sherlock misused his transport, so he always made Sherlock do stupid things during cases, like nap and eat occasionally. All sorts of things that made his body feel better, but slowed him down during a case. Afterwards, however, he ate and slept like a teenager.

He trudged out of his room, yawning and running a hand through his hair. His joints popped here and there from movement after so long asleep, and he took a peculiar satisfaction in it.

Of course, since it was just past noon, and John insisted on _working_  when there wasn't a case on, the blogger was absent. Especially annoying, considering the fact that Sherlock didn't particularly want to make his own breakfast or coffee. With a big sigh that was really better suited to an audience, he pillaged the fridge and dug out the last things that were safe for consumption. He ate while sifting through the paper. He saw where John had marked stories he thought might interest the detective.

Eventually, it was time to sulk about the flat in a swirling dressing gown, violin in one hand and bow in the other. When Mycroft called to bother Sherlock about something dull, he abandoned the violin for the terrible necessity of his phone. He still held the bow, swishing it about like a sword. At one point, he thrust it forward, pleased with the mental image of running his brother through.

When John finally came home, Sherlock was sweeping through a melody that somehow managed to sound _annoyed_.

"Oh, you're up," John said, hanging up his coat. Sherlock responded with a sharp, ragged note that made John wince.

"Mycroft has been bothering me all day about some jewel theif," Sherlock said once he was finished with the song. John raised an eyebrow.

"Is it a boring case, or are you just annoyed that it's Mycroft's?"

Sherlock couldn't contain the small smile for his friend. He may have been terrible with deduction (still), but he could read Sherlock like a book most of the time.

"Both."

And then they fell into their usual day-after pattern of crap telly (punctuated with Sherlock's exclamations) and Chinese takeaway. John had a beer and grinned at the detective's invective.

Their post-case pattern was one that both men enjoyed, despite Sherlock's penchant for petulance. He wouldn't dare admit to actually _liking_ the peace. It went against all of the tumult he held near and dear. Better to be kicking and screaming and shooting holes in the wall ("I'll be putting that on your rent, boys.") than to be _placid_  or _calm_. The very words were offensive.

Nevertheless, Sherlock was feeling much closer to mellow than he would ever admit, even to himself.

It wasn't until Greg called at three in the morning that things began to roil inside the detective's big brain. It was a jewel thief, making off with an entire chest of jewels, which was dull if your name was Sherlock Holmes. The bodies, however, and the peculiarities associated with them, were _much_  more interesting.

Twenty minutes later, he and John were in a cab, on the way to the crime scene.

An hour after that, Sherlock had deduced what he could and very nearly solved the crime.

Fifteen minutes after _that_ , he and John were tearing through the city like hell unbound, hot on the thief's trail. They found him near the Tate museum, and recovered the treasure once they'd incapacitated the fool. That, of course, was accomplished with a long pipe which Sherlock had brandished like a sword. The jewels were returned to their rightful owner, and while the magpie that was Sherlock Holmes had been briefly tempted to nick something for his collection (where do you think he got the skull, or the bats?), the treasure returned intact.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes wanted to be a pirate when he grew up. While that hadn't quite panned out, some of those qualities had ended up bleeding into his life and his work. After all, it wasn't _consulting detectives_  who were famous for seeking out treasure, now was it?

**Author's Note:**

> Totally inspired by the fact that I wanted to be a mermaid when I grew up, and now I want to be a marine biologist. Close enough, right?


End file.
